


Master of Death

by Alisanne, MyWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Art, M/M, Mystery, NSFW Art, Snarry-A-Thon16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyWitch/pseuds/MyWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war’s over, so that means Harry’s life should be normal, right? Unfortunately, nothing about Harry’s life is ever normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas and to the ever patient mods, who keep the Snarry fires burning. ♥

He’s clawing his way through underbrush and it’s misty; the very air seems heavy and wet around him. Branches grab at him, digging into his skin, and as he draws breath to shout, his voice clogs in his throat and he coughs instead. 

When he finally makes his way free, however, it’s no better. Looking around, all he sees is endless mist with the occasional misshapen, petrified tree. Where is he?

Turning in a slow circle, he tries to orient himself, tries to figure out where he is, where everyone else could be. Surely he isn’t alone in this horrible place, is he? 

A hiss makes him spin again. Is that a figure limping towards him? While he would welcome companionship in this awful place, he knows he doesn't want _that_ company. Whirling, he sets off in the opposite direction from the creature.

The terrain’s rough, though, and he keeps stumbling as the figure gets closer and closer.

Harry falls, lying sprawled in the dirt, and as the figure gets closer, Harry whimpers, rolls over, tries to scrabble backward to get away. 

The creature’s still hissing, and soon enough it looms over Harry, its cowl concealing its face. The hissing turns into words. “Sssave me! Sssave me!”

* * *

Panting, Harry sat straight up in bed. He was covered with sweat, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His shoulders sagged when he realised it had been a dream. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, collapsing onto his back and staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. 

Turning his head, he looked at the clock. Three A.M. on the dot, just as it had been for the past week. 

Groaning, Harry turned over, punching his pillow. Closing his eyes, he tried to fall asleep again, and his last thought before drifting off was that this was getting old.

* * *

“Everyone’s having nightmares these days,” Hermione said. “It’s not that unexpected, given all the trauma people experienced in the war, and the fact that the war trials just ended. I’d be surprised if you _weren’t_ having them.” 

“But they’re getting worse and they’re so…vivid.” Harry sighed, looking down into his teacup. “And it’s every night. It almost feels like someone’s trying to send me a message.” 

“Who?” Ron asked around a mouthful of bacon. 

“If I knew that, would I be asking you two about it?” Harry asked. 

“Your subconscious could be trying to tell you something,” Hermione said. “That’s a possibility, too.” 

“I suppose.” Harry tapped the rim of his cup with his wand to warm up the tea inside. “It just feels like I ought to be doing something.”

“Well,” said Ron, wiping his mouth. “If it’s important, it’ll become clear soon enough, right?” 

“I guess.” Harry, frustrated, picked at his toast. “It’s as if something’s just out of reach. Like there’s something obvious that I should be getting, but that I’m not.” 

“Well, if there is something, it’ll come to you eventually, I’m sure,” Hermione said. She cleared her throat. “Now, there’s something else we need to discuss.” 

Harry looked up. “All right. What?”

Sitting up straight in her chair, Hermione stared straight at Ron. “The schedule.” 

Ron groaned. “Not this again! Hermione—” 

“Harry and I are the only ones who follow it!” Hermione gestured to the chore list prominently displayed on a cabinet. “This week is your turn to clean, Ron, and the house is filthy. Harry’s been doing his share, but you—”

As she harangued Ron, Harry sat back in his chair and smiled. It was fun having house mates, especially at Grimmauld, which was dour at the best of times. Still, there were times Hermione and Ron disappeared and Harry knew better than to look for them. And at those times it was lonely being in such a big house. Not that he would have it any other way. But it would be nice to have someone of his own. A partner. A lover.

“…Molly’s such a good cook, you must have picked up some skills! I don’t understand why you won’t pitch in and prepare a meal once in a while!” 

Ron, face red, said, “It’s because Mum’s such a great cook why I’m not. She spoiled us, you see. None of us ever had to cook for ourselves.”

Hermione huffed. “I’m pretty sure Ginny, even if she doesn’t do much of it, knows how. So what’s your excuse?” 

“Well right, but she’s a girl, so—”

Oh shit. Harry froze. 

Ron, clearly unaware of his imminent danger, prattled on. “…only proper that she should learn because one day she’s going to have to cook for her husband and kids—”

“Harry,” Hermione said, tone deceptively soft. “Could you excuse us for a minute?” 

“Of course,” said Harry, pushing away from the table. “I’m off to um, do that thing, and I’ll be back, erm—” he scanned Hermione’s face, “…in a couple of hours. Maybe I’ll go to Diagon. Yeah, that sounds good.” And, making his escape, he softly closed the kitchen door behind him before making for the exit with haste. 

The yelling didn’t begin until he was almost at the front door. Wincing, Harry mentally wished his friend well before slipping out and onto the street. 

As it was a Saturday, and a beautiful spring day, and so Diagon was bustling, which was good since no one noticed him until he was halfway down the street. When the whispers started, he quickly slipped into the nearest shop, Obscurus Books. Walking up and down the aisles, he absently looked at book titles.

“May I help you?” The shopkeeper’s eyes widened in recognition. “Mr Potter! Oh, it’s such an honour—” 

Harry sighed. “Thanks. I’m just browsing…” He paused. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any books on dream interpretation, would you?” 

The man smiled. “That we do. This way, Mr Potter.” 

Harry found several books on the meaning of dreams, interpreting dreams, even methods of directing dreams. Purchasing them all, he shrank them and, slipping out of the shop, started for the Apparation point. 

When he let himself back into Grimmauld Place, it was quiet. “Ron?” he called out cautiously. “Hermione?” 

“In here,” Hermione said. 

Walking into the parlour, Harry blinked. Ron was dusting, of all things, feather duster in hand, while Hermione, reclining with her feet up on the sofa, was reading one of her Unspeakable textbooks. Harry raised an eyebrow.

[ ](http://www.snapepotterfests.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/rondust.jpg)

“How was Diagon?” Hermione asked, as if Ron cleaned every day.

Biting his lip, Harry crossed the room to sit. “Crowded,” he said. He glanced at Ron, who seemed to be avoiding looking at him. “I bought a couple of books on dream interpretation.” 

“Oh, good idea!” Hermione praised. “It wouldn’t hurt to do some research, plus maybe this will help you figure out what your subconscious might be trying to tell you.” Setting aside her own book, she held out her hand. “Let’s see them, then.” 

Harry handed them over, sitting back to watch as she flipped through them. Finally, she looked up. “These look good, Harry.” She stared into his eyes. “Do you want help? I can—”

“No.” Harry smiled. “I’ll manage.” He glanced at Ron. “Do you want me to start lunch?”

“Oh no,” Hermione said, tone airy. “It’s Ron’s turn to cook this week, he’ll get to it.” 

“Uh huh.” Harry coughed. “Maybe I’ll just make a cup of tea and a sandwich.”

“Up to you.” Hermione’s smile was sharp. “Ron will be making quiche and salads, though. And wait until you see what he has planned for pudding.” 

Ron whimpered. 

Harry stood up. “Right. Well. I’ll just…yeah. See you.” 

Escaping the living room, he went to the kitchen where he prepared a couple of ham sandwiches and some tea. After mentally debating whether or not to eat in the kitchen, he then decided no, and, picking up his things, took them upstairs to his room, where he ate as he read.

The books were all different in their approach. One suggested opening one’s third eye to see dreams more clearly, another posited that closing one’s mind would make it less susceptible to outside influences, thus allowing a person to focus on processing their inner emotions and thoughts, and yet another suggested the judicious use of hallucinatory potions. By the time Harry finished flipping through the fourth, which advocated trying to direct the dream by force of personality, he was thoroughly confused. 

He could hear Ron and Hermione downstairs, and pondered going down to join them. Surely the weirdness would be over soon and they’d be back to normal?

Harry yawned. Perhaps he’d take a quick nap first, though. He was sure to wake up in time for dinner. And that was his last thought before he drifted off.

* * *

The landscape’s lighter, the sun struggling to emerge from behind roiling grey clouds. Looking around, Harry can still see the dead trees, the landscape dotted with boulders, and rocks, and odd scrubby bushes, but it somehow seems less ominous. 

Harry exhales. “Right, brain,” he whispers. “So what is it you want me to see?” When nothing happens, and no one emerges from the mist, Harry shrugs and starts walking.

The terrain remains barren, but for the sad vegetation. No animals are in sight, nor are there any buildings, and certainly no people. Occasionally, Harry thinks he hears a voice in the distance, but when he stops to listen more closely, it sounds like the wind. 

Finally, he comes upon a lake. Harry purses his lips. “You’re new,” he mutters. “Wonder what you’re supposed to tell me?” 

There’s a large, flat rock beside it, so Harry walks up to it before sitting down. While the place is still far from friendly, it seems much less creepy than it has before. Maybe he’s finally processing whatever it is he’s supposed to be processing? 

Absently, he kicks a tiny pebble into the lake. It sinks without a ripple, but within moments, the ground begins to shake. 

Jumping to his feet, Harry looks around, trying to maintain a steady stance. He turns in a circle, looking for a safe place to weather an earthquake, but when he turns back towards the lake, someone’s there. A cloaked figure that somehow makes the air around it shimmer.

Harry shrieks as a skeletal hand clamps on his arm. “Run,” the figure says. “Run now.” 

Shaking the hand off, Harry runs. After a moment he realises the figure is right behind him, and it spurs him to move faster. The figure keeps up easily, however, and Harry soon understands that if it had wanted to catch him, it would have. The thought is not that reassuring. 

Up ahead of them is a set of caves, so Harry veers towards them, and the figure behind him hisses what sounds like approval. 

Diving into the cave, Harry staggers towards a rock and sits, panting as he catches his breath. In front of him hovers the figure. The quaking has stopped. 

“Who…who are you?” Harry gasps. 

Somehow the figure conveys the impression of amusement. “You don’t recognise me?”

Harry narrows his eyes, focussing. The shimmer in the air seems to increase until there is a blast of bright light that makes Harry throw up his arm to shield his face. When he can see again, Harry blinks at the man standing before him. His mouth drops open. “Snape?” he whispers. “What the hell are you doing in my dream?” 

Snape stares at him. “Your dream? Idiot, this is the Deathscape. And, Merlin help me, you’re supposed to be my guide. I’ve been looking for you for days!”

“I’m supposed to be your what now?” Harry stands. “What are you talking about? And what does any of this have to do with me?” 

Snape growls. “You are the Master of Death, are you not?” At Harry’s probably blank look, he snarls. “You collected all the Deathly Hallows! Did you not think that there would be consequences to that?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Um…no?”

Snape’s mouth works for a moment. “You moron! I can’t believe you don’t know that you are the one who is supposed to—”

Harry holds up a hand and, miracle of miracles, Snape actually stops mid-rant. “Look. As far as I’m concerned this is a dream and I’m working through some mental issues. So, can you prove that you’re real and that this _is_ the Deathscape or whatever, and not bad ham in the sandwiches I just ate?”

Snape sneers. “Proof. You want proof. Fine.” Drawing his wand, he points it at Harry, hissing a spell. Immediately, a small, red burn appears on Harry’s right arm. 

“Argh!” Harry cries as white hot pain envelops him.

* * *

Sitting up in bed, Harry rubbed his aching arm, and when he pulled his hand away, a red mark was there, just like the one Snape had given him in his dream. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. “It’s real. Bloody hell.” Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he went for the door. “Hermione!” 

“But…it’s just not possible,” Hermione said for about the third time since Harry had come hurtling down the stairs calling for help. “Snape’s dead.”

Harry stared at her flatly. “And yet,” he said, gesturing to his injured arm. “Unless you think somehow I sleep burned myself.” 

“No, but you do have a bit of a thing about Snape.” Hermione met his gaze squarely. “It’s true.”

“I’m not making this up just because I at one time had a thing for Snape,” Harry said, flushing. “Now can we get back to the issue?”

“Yes.” Hermione sighed, looking around them. “We may need more books.”

They were in the kitchen, books spread over every available surface, supper forgotten in light of Harry’s emergency. Ron, released from whatever domestic purgatory Hermione had assigned him, looked up from the book he was perusing. “I bet they’d let us use Hogwarts’ library, don’t you think?” 

“I hope so,” Harry said. “Because the books I bought in Diagon and the Black ancestral library books are no help, and I can’t think of anyplace else to go and get more information.” 

Hermione bit her bottom lip. “There may be one more place,” she said slowly. 

Ron and Harry looked at her. She flushed. “What? As an Unspeakable trainee I have access to some alternate sources of information.” 

“You us want to break into the Department of Mysteries again?” Ron shook his head. “Absolutely not. No way.” 

“We won’t be breaking in,” Hermione said. “I’m allowed in there. Getting the two of you in there would be the issue.” 

“But we don’t have to go with you, do we?” said Harry. “We should probably split up anyway. Ron and I can go to Hogwarts and use that library, you go to the Department of Mysteries secret library, and we meet back here and compare notes.” 

“All right.” Hermione nodded. “And remember, we’re looking for any mention of the Deathscape or the Master of Death or—”

“Yes, Hermione, we know.” Harry patted her arm. “I’m the one who told you, remember.” 

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” Hermione smiled absently at him. “I’ll see you two later, all right?” 

Harry frowned. “You’re going _now_? It’s Saturday night.”

“Which means it shouldn’t be crowded,” Hermione said, standing up and Summoning her cloak. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Once she was gone, Ron shook his head. “We won’t see her for three days,” he said mournfully. He pursed his lips. “Wanna go out for supper?” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “Maybe to that pub down the street? I could use an ale.” 

Ron slapped him on the back. “You, my friend, are brilliant. Let’s go.” 

When they returned, slightly pissed and full of chips, Hermione was waiting. She took one look at them and went to fetch some Sobriety Potion. “Drink,” she said, handing one to each of them. 

“But why?” Ron whinged. “I went to a lot’f trouble getting drunk. Wanna ’njoy it.” 

Harry didn’t even bother arguing, he just obediently took the potion, gagging slightly at the taste before his inebriation left him. Sighing, he collapsed into a chair. “Right,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Why do I have to be sober?” 

“Because I think I found out what you have to do, and it’s…going to be interesting.” 

Not liking the sound of that, Harry sat up. “Interesting how?” he asked. 

Hermione was still trying to hand Ron the Sobriety Potion, and Ron was shaking his head. With an exasperated sigh, she put it on the table beside him. “Well, I had to take notes because the books I was consulting can’t be removed from the department.” Pulling out a parchment, she handed it to him. “Read for yourself.”

Harry looked at the parchment. “Er, Hermione? This is blank.” 

“Is it?” She took it back, groaning as she scanned the empty parchment. “Damn. There must be a charm making it impossible to even remove notes about this topic.” She exhaled. “I’ll just have to tell you what I can recall.” 

“I’m sure that will be fine. You’ve a great memory.” 

“We’ll see. I wouldn’t be surprised if those books are charmed to make readers forget what they read. The Unspeakables really are quite paranoid.” 

“Tell me quickly, then,” Harry said. 

Hermione nodded. “A Master of Death is the title bestowed to one who fulfils certain criteria. One who has bested Death on his own turf, one who has returned to the living world from Death’s realm, which is called the Deathscape by the way, or one who claims possession of the Deathly Hallows. As you can imagine, Death doesn’t often allow someone to best him, in fact it hasn’t happened in decades, not since the Peverells, in fact. And as for escaping Death’s realm…well, I’m not sure that’s _ever_ happened.

“Anyway, that leaves the third, and, like it or not, Harry, you have at one time or another, claimed possession of all the Deathly Hallows.”

“So did Dumbledore,” Harry said. “Does that mean he was one, too?” 

“I’m not sure, actually. My impression is that you have to have all the items and yet not want to use them, so maybe he wasn’t.” Hermione shrugged. “The texts were unclear. In any event, it seems the title of Master of Death lasts until the death of the bearer, so you’ll be one until you die.” 

“Great.” Harry sighed. “But what does it all mean? What do I do with it? And why am I dreaming about Snape?” 

“Other tha’ your crush ’n the Half-Blood Prince?” Ron slurred.

Harry glared at him. 

Hermione bit her lip as if trying to suppress a smile. “Well normally, all this would be a moot point, I think,” she said, ignoring Ron’s comment. “Most souls go where they should automatically. You, however, have the ability to guide trapped souls either into the beyond or back to life, but only if you establish some sort of bond with them. The texts say you do that via some sort of linked, lucid dreaming.” 

Harry blinked. “So I’m supposed to do that with Snape? Why me? And shouldn’t his soul already be…wherever?”

“Since when has Snape done anything he’s supposed to?” chimed in Ron, the empty Sobriety Potion vial in his hand.

Harry grinned at him. “Welcome to the conversation, mate. And you make a valid point. Still, what sort of bond could I possibly have with Snape that’s making him haunt my dreams?” Harry threw up his hands.

“Well, he was sort of linked to you through your mum, right?” said Ron. “Didn’t you say you saw in his memories where he promised her he’d look after you as she was dying? Swore an Unbreakable Vow?” 

“Right, but he’s dead.” Harry froze. “Unbreakable Vows don’t last beyond death, do they?” 

“Not that I’ve ever heard,” said Ron. 

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not sure. But, Harry, about that—” 

“Okay,” interrupted Harry, standing up and starting to pace around the room. “Let me get this straight. I’m supposed to guide Snape’s soul out of Death’s realm and to heaven, or wherever, somehow. Is that right?” 

“Evidently,” said Hermione. “Anyway, Harry, you should know—”

“Only how am I going to do that? He’s dead. His soul should be wherever it’s going to end up. The only place I ever see him is when I’m dream—” Harry paused. “Why are you shaking your head, Hermione?” 

Hermione smiled weakly. “I’ve been trying to tell you. Snape’s not exactly dead.”

Ron and Harry stared at her. Harry was the first to speak. “What the hell are you talking about, Hermione?” 

Slowly, they extracted the story from her, and when she finished talking, Harry was seriously contemplating getting drunk again. “So, to summarise, they somehow have Snape’s body in the Department of Mysteries. Brilliant.” Harry collapsed back into the chair. 

“But why?” Ron asked. “What do they have him for?

“Study, I suppose.” Hermione bit her lip. “After all, he’s trapped between life and death, not dead, not alive. I imagine they’d want to know how that’s possible.” 

“Bloody hell.” Ron groaned. “That sounds horrid. Why not take him to St Mungo’s?”

“When they found him he wasn’t quite dead, and I think no one knew what to do with him, including the Healers, so the Unspeakables took him.” Hermione chewed her bottom lip. “Remember how it was just after the battle? We went to look for him, but when we got there, he was gone.”

“Yeah. And no one would tell us where he was.” Harry glared at her. “How long have you known, and when were you going to tell me? You know how I—” He paused. 

“That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything about it,” Hermione said. “You’re a bit…obsessive when it comes to Snape. I didn’t want you to go off looking for him if he wasn’t alive.” 

“But he _is_ alive.” 

“Well, I know that now!” Hermione exhaled. “Look, I suspected someone had him, but I wasn’t sure it was us until I checked tonight.” She held up her hands. “You have to believe me! He’s in a locked chamber, and only full Unspeakables are allowed in.” She sounded bitter. “In fact, the only reason I even saw him is because it was Saturday night and they were a bit more lax than usual about changing shifts.” She flushed. “And because I’ve been trying to get a look in that room for ages, and tonight was my chance.

“Anyway, I saw him, he’s on a slab in there, and one of the Unspeakables, before I was shoved outside, said something about doing an aural dissection.” 

Harry’s blood went cold. “They’re going to cut him up?” 

“Just his aura, I think?” Hermione shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. But I do think that since he seems to be reaching out to you, we need to try to prevent that from happening.” 

“Agreed,” said Harry after a pause. “So my task is to break into the Department of Mysteries again, this time in order to steal Snape’s body, so I can attempt to do lucid dreaming with him in order to guide his soul to the great beyond. And if I don’t, he’ll probably haunt my dreams forever, burning me whenever he feels like it. Bloody hell. How is this my life?” Harry buried his face in his hands.

“Well,” said Ron, “when you put it like _that_ —”

Hermione placed a hand on Harry’s arm. “You don’t have to do it alone, Harry. We’ll help. After all, we all owe Professor Snape a lot.” 

“We?” squeaked Ron.

Harry raised his head to stare at Hermione. “I have to do this, but if they catch you helping me do this, Hermione, you’ll be sacked. You love being an Unspeakable trainee. You can’t sacrifice—”

“Are you thick? You’ll never get past the first locked door without me,” Hermione said, her mouth in a firm line. “As for being an Unspeakable trainee, well, it’s been months, and I have no idea if they’re ever going to promote me to full Unspeakable, so what the hell?” 

“There she is,” said Ron. “Rebel Hermione.” 

Harry grinned as Hermione blushed. “If they don’t make you a full Unspeakable, they’re idiots,” he said. “You’re brilliant!” 

Hermione smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not sure they agree.” She sniffed, eyeing Ron. “And you don’t have to help us, Ron. Harry and I can manage on our own if you—” 

Ron rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m helping. Don’t _you_ be thick. I just want it noted for the record that I think this is a terrible idea.” 

Harry shook his head ruefully. “Trust me, mate, you’re not the only one.”

* * *

It was Sunday night and the Ministry was practically deserted. Harry and Hermione, both Ministry employees, walked in openly, and if they were occasionally hesitant, holding doors open a tad longer than necessary, no one was really around to notice. 

Once inside the Department of Mysteries, Hermione strode straight to the tiny office she shared with the other trainees, Harry trailing after her. Letting him in, she closed the door. 

There was a shimmer, and Ron appeared from under Harry’s Cloak. “Well that was easier than last time,” he said, handing the Cloak to Harry. 

“That wasn’t the hard bit,” Hermione said, rummaging through a desk. Withdrawing two small boxes, she exhaled. “Right. So, just as we discussed, I’m going to bluff my way into Snape’s room while carrying this, which should allow you two to hear what’s being said.” She placed one of the boxes on the desk, the other she deposited in her pocket.

Harry nodded. “And once you’re inside, we wait until you give the signal, and we follow.” He frowned. “We never discussed how you were going to distract the Unspeakables, or what the signal’s going to be.” 

Turning away, Hermione fiddled with the box on the desk. “No, we didn’t,” she said. “Leave that to me. And you’ll know the signal when you hear it.” And before either Harry or Ron could say anything, she slipped out the door. 

“I don’t like this,” said Ron. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d be worried if you did like it. Too much can go wrong.” 

Ron nodded. “So what happens to you if you get caught?” 

Harry shook his head. “No idea. I’ll probably be suspended at best, kicked out of the Auror program at worst.” He started to pace. 

“And you’re still sure you want to do this?” Ron persisted. 

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Harry sighed. “I can always find a new job, but I have to sleep sometime.” 

“You didn’t last night,” Ron reminded him. 

“Yeah, and I’m exhausted.” Harry yawned. “The only reason I’m still awake now is for fear of running into Snape in my dreams again.”

“I thought you’d be all about that,” Ron laughed. 

“It’s not funny. I may have fancied him at one time, but he can be a right arse.” Harry shook his head. “And aren’t you worried about what the Ministry could do to you?”

Ron shrugged. “I’m in business with George. What are they going to do? Stop patronising the Wheezes? I don’t imagine many of this lot are regulars there anyway.”

“Point.” Harry stopped pacing. “I wonder what’s taking her so long? I hope nothing’s happened—”

*…just came in to do some extra research, Unspeakable Brown.* Hermione’s voice began emanating clearly from the box on the desk. *I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me.*

*Now isn’t the time, trainee, nor is this the place—*

*Oh, is that Professor Snape? What’s he doing here?*

*I really must insist you leave—*

* _Obliviate!_ *

“That sounds like our cue,” said Ron, starting for the door, Harry right behind him.

Peering down the hall, Harry could see a soft glow. “This way,” he whispered. 

Hurrying along the passageway, they found Hermione beside a tall, thin man, clad in grey Unspeakable robes, who was standing there with a blank look on his face. 

Ron shook his head. “You really are scarily good at that.” 

Hermione grabbed both their hands, pulling them into a chamber. “Thanks. Now come on, the door’s timed to close soon.” And no sooner were they inside when it clicked shut behind them. “We have probably four hours before the next shift arrives.”

The chamber was bare, but for a slab upon which lay Severus Snape’s unmoving body. Harry stared. “His eyes are open. And the neck wound is healed!” 

“Yes, I noticed that, too,” said Hermione. “I’m glad they managed to do that much. And having one’s eyes open isn’t unheard of for coma patients.” But Harry could tell she was unnerved. 

“I think it’s creepy as fuck,” muttered Ron. 

Harry nodded. “Agreed, but I still have to do this.” 

“I know.” Hermione smiled. “Okay, so since it’s impractical to move him, Ron, you start putting up the shield spells like we discussed. Let’s hold them off as long as we can to give Harry a chance to do his thing.” Hermione began pulling things out of her bag. She handed Harry a blanket. “Harry, you spread this out on the floor next to that slab so you don’t get cold, then try to relax.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

She sighed. “I know, I know, but everything we read on linked lucid dreaming says it’s a meditative state, and to meditate you have to relax. Once you seem ready, I’ll cast the Mind Link Spell. And remember, it’s likely you’ll have some trials or tests on the way.” 

“Right. Tests.” Harry spread out the blanket, then lay on top of it, wincing as he did so. Even through the blanket he could feel the chill of the cold stone floor. Palming his wand in his pocket, he whispered a surreptitious Cushioning Charm.

Looking up at the ceiling, he tried to block out what his friends were doing, although Ron’s chanting was rather soothing, and when Hermione joined him in casting the shields, it added a soprano counterpoint to Ron’s tenor. Harry smiled. It almost sounded like they were singing him to sleep.

A golden warmth enveloped him as Hermione sang a spell over him.

Harry closed his eyes.

* * *

“Oh, good,” says Snape dryly when Harry opens his eyes. “You’ve returned.” 

Sitting up, Harry looks around. He’s still in the cave where they’d sheltered out the earthquake, but he’s not sure how much time has passed. “Er, did I miss anything?”

Snape, leaning against the stone wall, snorts. “Just me waiting for you to get back.” He sneers. “I see you took your time. Didn’t you sleep last night? Studying up on ways to export me to the afterlife, or were you afraid that another nap would result in seeing me again?”

Harry coughs. “We had a lot of reading to do,” he says, avoiding the question. 

“We?” Snape hums. “Well at least you involved someone with brains. Ms Granger can be an adequate researcher when motivated.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. Describing Hermione as an _adequate researcher_ is like saying Snape can be _somewhat temperamental_. He clears his throat. “What we read says that this is all created by both our minds. So basically I have to guide you though the bits contributed by my mind to get you to where you need to go. On to the next great adventure, I guess.” 

Snape huffs. “Well then get to it, Potter. I am ready to be quit of this place. It’s past time I move on.” 

Harry nods. “Okay, but just so you know, Hermione says there are likely to be trials along the way to test us.”

Snape grunts. “Of course. I imagine between the two of us, however, we are more than equal to the challenge.” 

Harry hopes he’s right. “Okay.” Getting to his feet, Harry tries to orient himself, but even turning around several times he has no clue which way to go. Finally, he shrugs. “How about we move outside the cave and see what happens?” 

“Ah, the great foresight and planning of Gryffindors. Such careful people.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You have a better idea? We can’t stay here in the cave forever.” 

Snape huffs. “Indeed not,” he finally mutters. “This is, as they say, your party. Lead on.” 

He’s not sure it’s the right decision, but clearly staying inside the cave gets them nowhere, so, with a mental shrug, Harry starts off. 

It’s darker outside than he remembers, overcast, but he can still make his way well enough through the mist, and Snape seems to have no difficulty keeping up. To Harry’s surprise, there are no acerbic remarks, or any remarks at all, and after several minutes of silence, Harry says, “So what have you been doing since you got here?”

“Small talk, Potter? Really?” 

Harry sighs. “I just thought it would pass the time faster if we talked. I’ll start. I’m an Auror cadet. I’m supposed to finish the programme in a few months.”

“A few months?” Snape frowns. “How old are you now?” 

“Twenty-one. Why?” 

Snape goes quiet for a few moments before saying, “Time obviously moves differently here. As far as I’m concerned, it’s been about a week since I arrived. When last I saw you, you were eighteen. I wondered why you looked so much older.” 

“A week?” Merlin. “So, um, what happened?” Harry coughs. “I mean, I know what happened in the Shack, I witnessed that, but from your standpoint, what happened next?” 

“You and your cohorts left to go and do…whatever. Defeat the Dark Lord, I hope?” He eyes Harry, who nods. Snape exhales. “Well, at least something worked as planned. I’ve never been a fan of Albus’ convoluted plots, but evidently this one was successful. Anyway, after several moments of excruciating agony, I woke up here, under one of these dead trees we keep walking past.” He shudders. 

“Okay.” Harry glances at Snape’s neck. It appears healed here, too. “Do you know how you were healed?” 

“No.” Snape touches his neck almost hesitantly as if expecting to find the wounds still there. “The bite…smarted a bit, so its resolution was a pleasant surprise. Since arriving I’ve drifted aimlessly about, for the most part.”

Nagini’s bite only smarted a bit? Snape’s clearly a master of understatement. “And I’m the first person you’ve encountered here?” Harry asks. 

“Yes. I…felt you arrive. I had been trying to explore, but all I saw for miles was thick mist until the day I heard someone crashing about, went to see who or what it was, and it was you. I tried speaking to you, but you seemed oblivious.” 

Harry clears his throat. “Ah. Well, um, sorry about that. But you did get through eventually.” 

“Indeed.” Snape huffs. “When you opened your mind! Anyway, I have also tried to manipulate these surroundings, tried to wish for things, like books, or a potions laboratory, but this place does not respond to my thoughts. And then I recalled Filius telling me the legend of the Deathscape and this place fit the description, so when I finally got through to you—”

“We were going to go to Hogwarts and see if Headmistress McGonagall would allow us to use the library, but we decided we needed to move right away to have access to your body in order to do this lucid dreaming thing, so we didn’t.” Harry bites his lip. “Now I wish we had. We didn’t find much that mentioned the Deathscape directly.” 

“Access to my…body?” Snape raises an eyebrow. “I hesitate to ask but I must know. Where exactly is my body located?” 

“In the Department of Mysteries. And it looked like they were about to start dissecting you.” 

Snape huffs. “Charming.” 

“Or your aura, anyway, whatever that means,” Harry corrected. “At least that’s what Hermione said. Anyway, we snuck in and Obliviated an Unspeakable. We’re hoping to get you sorted before they return.” 

“You…Obliviated an Unspeakable?” Snape’s lips twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. “Why am I even surprised?”

“No idea,” Harry says, biting back his own grin. “Anyway, we figured we should try and get this done before they start trying to get to us. We don’t know what will happen if they manage to dissect your aura before you get to where you’re supposed to go.” 

“Indeed. Nothing good, I suspect.” Snape actually turns paler. “Getting this done posthaste would probably be for the best,” he agrees. He looks around the bleak landscape. “Tell me honestly, do you have any idea where you’re leading me?”

“Um, not really. Although apparently I’ll know it when I see it.” Harry sighs. “I know it’s not very exact, but the book didn’t have specific instructions.”

“When have you ever been exact?” Snape asks, tone dry. He snorts. “Still, it seems to have worked out for you. We’ll see how this goes.” 

“Yeah.” Harry coughs. “So maybe we could talk while we walk?” 

Snape sighs. “Let me guess. You have questions about your mother.” He doesn’t even wait for Harry to respond before he continues, “Well, I suppose I do owe you. Very well. Lily was my best and probably only friend growing up—” 

As they talk and time passes, Harry notices their surroundings are beginning to change. Gone are the petrified trees and rocks, replaced by grass, shrubs and small, living trees. And when he sees a rabbit dart through the underbrush, he gasps. 

“What is it?” asks Snape, interrupting a childhood story featuring himself, Lily, and Petunia.

“That’s the first animal I’ve seen since we’ve been here.” 

“Indeed.” Snape scans the area. “The foliage has certainly changed. If there is now fauna, as you suggest, perhaps we are going in the correct direction.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.” Harry squints, trying to make out a structure in the horizon. “Do you see that? Doesn’t it look like—”

“A castle,” says Snape. “How…interesting.”

Harry frowns. “How do we know we can trust whoever lives there?” 

“We don’t.” 

Harry shrugs. “Well, this is supposed to be stuff supplied from both our minds, right? If so, can’t we just decide we want it to be someone friendly?” 

Snape snorts. “And I suppose you have utmost control of your thoughts at all times? Dark thoughts will appear no matter what we do. They are a part of the human condition. All we can do is do our best to not let them prevail.” 

“So basically, think good thoughts?” Harry says, grinning. 

Snape rolls his eyes. “In simple terms, yes.” He purses his lips. “We could avoid it altogether.” 

“I guess.” Harry sighs. “It’s just…I’m getting tired, and it looks like a decent place to stop and rest.” 

“I believe we should choose an alternate resting place,” says Snape after another moment. “In fact, I’m in favor of avoiding the place altogether and taking an alternate route that does not take us past its gates.” 

Paranoid bastard. Still, Harry’s getting an odd feeling from the place, too. He nods, resigned. “All right. How about through these trees? That way we skirt the castle and we should come out on the far side.” 

“Acceptable.” Snape starts for the trees. “Shall we?” 

Shooting one last longing look at the castle, Harry nods. “Yeah, I’m right behind you.” 

Within moments the trees start to thicken around them and moving through becomes a chore. Harry, thinking longingly of the path they gave up to pursue this one, grumbles under his breath, but is sure to do it softly so that Snape doesn’t hear. 

He’s behind Snape and so has a great view of the man’s backside. It’s…surprisingly fit, and Harry starts wondering what the rest of him looks like. Despite his crush, he recalls thinking Snape had been too thin when he'd been his professor, with a nose that was the only generous thing on him, but now he notices other things as they fight their way through the foliage. Like his tapered fingers, and his hips, and his shoulders, which are broader than Harry remembers. 

Licking his lips, Harry looks away, trying to think of something, anything but what he’s contemplating, which is sex with Snape! Could they even have sex in this place? Bloody hell, it’s clearly been too long since he’s been laid. He’s supposed to be leading the man to his eternal rest, not ogling him! 

A branch smacks him in the face, reminding him to pay attention. There’s a smothered snigger from Snape and Harry glares at his back. 

The undergrowth gets thicker, but by mutual unspoken agreement they don’t use their wands to clear a path. Harry’s not sure why he’s so reluctant to do magic close to the castle, but his instincts tell him it would be a bad idea, and clearly, Snape agrees. 

It’s slow going, however, and soon enough, Harry’s hands are covered with cuts and scrapes. “Ow!” he cries as a particularly sharp thorn stabs him as he pushes it aside. “Damn.” He sticks his finger in his mouth to suck the blood away and when he looks up, Snape is staring at him. “What?” 

Snape frowns. “Shh!” he hisses, halting and holding up a hand. “Do you hear something?”

Harry goes still. After a moment, he shakes his head. 

Snape huffs. “I could have sworn—”

A distant boom makes them both wince and after a moment the ground and trees begins shaking. Instinctively, Harry grabs Snape, who clings back as the world seems to move around them. Snape presses Harry’s face into his chest and Harry inhales, breathing in his scent.

Once the shaking stops, Snape releases Harry, a flush spreading over his face. “Apologies for manhandling you, it was instinctual—”

“It’s fine,” says Harry, sure his blush can be seen from space. “It was, er, a natural reaction to the earthquake.” 

“Quite.” Snape seems to relax a bit. He frowns. “I wonder what happened?” 

“No idea.” Harry pushes aside some more tree branches. “Should we press on?”

“Yes. Of course.” Snape, looking anywhere but at Harry, turns around, then begins to once again forge a path through the trees.

After that, things get a bit easier, the trees start to thin, until they’re able to walk side by side once again. While Harry’s relieved, he does miss being able to watch Snape’s arse and its mesmerising movements. Overhead, there are birds chirping, and Harry even spots a deer through the trees. “Do you think we’re past the castle now?” he asks. 

Snape shrugs. “There’s no way to know until the trees clear.” 

“Unless we’re just going deeper into the woods, wandering in circles,” Harry says. 

“Cheerful thought,” says Snape. He glances up. “The light’s beginning to go. It feels as if we’ve been walking all day. We should locate or create shelter before it gets dark.” 

“You mean shelter other than that castle?” Harry teases.

Snape rolls his eyes. “If you wish, we can try to make it to the castle, Potter. You are after all, the guide here.” 

Harry shakes his head, going serious. “No, you’re right, The castle was…weird.”

“You sensed something, too?” Snape stares searchingly at Harry.

Harry nods slowly. “It felt…Dark. Oppressive.”

Snape hums. “Some of these fallen limbs could make a decent shelter,” he says. “I am…reluctant to use a lot of magic here, but perhaps enough to Transfigure a small hut would be acceptable.” 

Harry sighs. “I don’t see that we have a choice, but maybe we could put up some shield spells before we do anything.”

Snape inclines his head. “That could work.” His look of approval makes something go soft and warm inside Harry. 

“I’ll do the shields,” Harry says, drawing his wand. “I’ve had lots of practice, after all.” 

Once the shields are up, the oppressive feeling dissipates and Harry breathes easier. In the time it takes him to completely shield them, Snape has constructed a serviceable hut. “Not bad,” Harry says, walking in. His eyes immediately go the one Transfigured bed and he can feel his face flush.

“I thought it best to share body heat,” says Snape. He seems uncertain. “Although I can probably gather some more leaves and Transfigure another bed—”

“No, that’s fine.” Harry wraps his arms around himself. “It is a bit chilly.” He shakes his head. “Which is weird since this is all in our heads.” 

“It’s not that strange,” says Snape. “The mind creates the situation. It’s dark, we’re in an unfamiliar forest, it makes sense we would be chilled.” 

“Right.” Harry rubs his hands together. “Although I’m not hungry.” 

“Fortunate. I haven’t been hungry since arriving here however long ago either. Which is good, because we’ve nothing to eat.” Snape gestures towards the bed. “Are you tired?” 

“I guess.” Exhaling, Harry moved towards the bed. He frowns. “I wonder what happens if I dream within a dream?” 

“Most likely you wake up. Although I suppose you could slip into another dream.” Snape snorts. “I’d advise you not think about it too closely,” he says. “Your brain may explode.” 

Harry laughs. “You’re right. Best not think about it.” 

“And now I know this is a dream,” Snape murmurs. “We’re actually agreeing.” 

They both climb onto the bed. Harry’s surprised at how soft it is, and after a day of walking it feels like heaven. He moans, closing his eyes as the mattress seems to envelop him. “Bloody hell, this feels good.” 

“You approve of my Transfiguration skills, I take it?” Snape says, settling beside him. 

Harry grins. “Yeah, they’re not too bad.” 

“Such high praise.” Snape sounds amused. 

“Hey, it’s taking me a while to get used to the idea that you don’t suck, okay?” Harry says. 

Snape’s chuckle is deep. “Ah, but who says I don’t when asked nicely?” he purrs. 

Harry, half asleep, is wide awake immediately, and his cock, which has been half hard all day because of proximity to Snape, goes fully erect. “I…um…what?” he croaks. 

“Relax, Potter,” whispers Snape, shifting onto his side and turning his back to him. “It was an attempt at levity. Clearly, I was unsuccessful. Just…get some rest.” 

Harry almost snorts but manages to swallow it. Rest? Now all he can think about is Snape’s lips wrapped around him, taking his cock, his tongue teasing the underside, licking the pre-come from the tip as Harry moans and thrusts into his mouth—

“Are you uncomfortable?” Snape asks. “You’re moving around a lot.” 

“I’m fine,” Harry squeaks. 

“Then get some rest.” Snape exhales, long and deep, and within moments his breathing evens out.

Harry, who’s aching, but afraid to move or touch himself in any way for fear of alerting Snape to his dilemma, closes his eyes. His last thought is that it’s not fair.

* * *

“…keep the shield up, Ron, they’re getting through!” Hermione sounded strained, and as Harry cracked one eye open, he could see her casting furiously to reinforce the shields. 

Raising his head a little, Harry squinted. Just beyond the shield, which shimmered like a translucent curtain, he could make out several figures clad in grey Unspeakable robes. 

He cleared his throat to speak and Hermione cast one look back over her shoulder at him, even as her wand moved continuously. “Did you get it done?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Harry said, feeling sluggish. “I need more time.” 

“Try to hurry it up, mate,” said Ron. “This is tougher than it looks!”

Since it looked pretty intense, Harry could only imagine. “I will,” he said. “Dunno why I woke up—”

“The Mind Link spell only lasts a couple of hours.” Hermione performed one last flourish and a blue layer shimmered over the shield. “Right, that should hold for a moment.” Turning to Harry, she said, “Close your eyes and I’ll put you back under.”

Harry nodded. “Right.”

She raised her wand. “And, Harry? I don’t know that we’ll be able to keep them out for longer than another hour or so, so do hurry and get it done, all right?” 

“I will,” Harry promised, closing his eyes.

* * *

Harry wakes up wrapped around Snape, his hips moving rhythmically as he humps a shapely backside. It feels so good, brilliant in fact, that it takes him a minute to come back to himself, to remember it’s _Snape_ he’s molesting. The moment he realises what he’s doing, however, he freezes. “Fuck,” he whispers. Please let him not be awake, please let him not be awake, please—

“All done?” Snape murmurs, and Harry’s ready to die of embarrassment on the spot. 

“Snape, I—”

“It’s fine, Potter.” Snape moves away. “It’s a natural impulse of all healthy young men. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

So why is Snape not looking at him, then? Harry swallows hard, shame and self-loathing battling inside him. “That doesn’t excuse me assaulting you. I am so sorr—”

“It’s fine!” Snape sits up, his back to Harry. “If you’ll just give me a moment to gather myself—”

“Of course.” Harry draws his knees up to his face, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I promise it won’t happen again.” He hears a noise and he peeks, his mouth dropping open when he catches a glimpse of Snape’s crotch as he struggles to put his robes on. “You’re hard!” he blurts. 

Snape, breathing rapidly, spins, a trapped look on his face. He sees where Harry is looking and he closes his eyes as if defeated. “Of course I’m hard, you idiot,” he says, voice strained. “Who wouldn’t be aroused if they had a gorgeous man rutting against them, one whom they’ve always want—” His mouth snaps shut. 

Harry stares at him. “You want me?” 

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “What, my erection isn’t proof enough that I want to fuck you?” he says, tone bitter. “Go ahead, then. Mock me for my hopeless attraction to beautiful young men with soulful green eyes.”

Harry’s world tilts on its axis. “You think I’m beautiful?” he asks.

Snape glares at him. “That’s what you took from that statement?” He shakes his head. “What about the bit where I want to fuck you though the mattress? Did that tiny fact escape your attention?” 

“I…” Harry’s mouth goes dry. “I’m getting to that,” he says softly. “But first…you said young _men_. Are there many of them you want to fuck?” 

Snape groans, sitting down heavily on the side of the bed. “There’s just the one at the moment, actually,” he says, shoulders slumped. “Bane of my existence. Always trying to get himself killed.” 

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Harry murmurs, shifting closer. 

“You have no idea,” Snape says. “Still,” he continues, turning his head to look Harry in the face, “he has his moments.”

Harry hesitates, but when Snape doesn’t flinch when he touches him, he squeezes his shoulder. “Like now, for instance?” he whispers, leaning in. “When someone’s…interested.”

“Interested?” Snape’s eyes narrow.

Swallowing hard, Harry smiles. “You think I rut against just anyone?”

The kiss starts tentatively before blossoming into a fiery conflagration that has them straining together, trying to devour each other. Snape presses Harry into the bed, his hands sliding up and under his shirt to caress skin. 

Harry’s erection, which had flagged during their conversation, returns in full force, and he strains to get closer to Snape, to his mouth and his hands.

They rock together, even as Snape’s hand burrows under Harry’s clothes to find his cock and stroke. Harry arches up in response, moaning into Snape’s mouth. His hand, the weight of his body, they feel so good, and Harry’s head is swimming as sensation washes over him. 

It doesn’t take much for Snape to make Harry come, not with the expert pull of his fingers as he brings Harry off. Body shaking as his pleasure crests, Harry spurts all over Snape’s hand and himself before collapsing back panting. 

Snape is still stroking him, but gently, and the moment his touch on Harry’s oversensitised bits get to be too much, Snape stops, stares down at Harry. “Satisfied?” he murmurs. 

Harry smiles. “Not completely. I believe someone said something about fucking me through the mattress?” 

Surprise and something else, tenderness perhaps - it’s gone before Harry can identify it - flashes across Snape’s face. “You’re sure?” he asks. 

Harry loops his arms around Snape’s neck and shifts, dragging his already reawakening cock against Snape’s leg. “Does that feel like I’m not interested?” he asks. 

If the first time is frantic and desperate, the next time is slow and exquisite torture. Snape strips Harry, touching every part of him before he ends up naked and wanting beneath him. He kisses Harry deeply, his tongue moving in his mouth in a mesmerising, erotic motion that makes Harry whimper, and when he finally, _finally_ presses a finger to Harry’s hole, Harry is practically begging. 

And still Snape moves slowly, as if savouring every second. By the time he gets three fingers into Harry and begins moving them in and out to prepare him, Harry’s writhing, riding them, babbling. “…come on…I’m ready…”

Snape laughs darkly, that velvet purr sending shivers up Harry’s spine. “In time,” he murmurs. “You’re such a beautiful, needy thing aren’t you?” He hums, draping Harry’s legs over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

There’s a moment of emptiness, and then Harry is being filled, Snape’s thick cock splitting him in two, the burn as it presses inside bringing Harry a moment of clarity from the haze of pleasure. He stares up at Snape. “Come on and fuck me,” he says, and at that, something seems to snap in Snape. 

With a growl, Snape drives deep, bottoms out, and then the slow push and pull begins. In and out Snape moves, his thrusting at first slow, but soon gaining speed as he rides Harry. 

Their eyes lock, Snape’s glittering with some unnamed emotion, his hair clinging to his flushed and damp face. 

Reaching up, Harry tucks a lock of hair behind Snape’s ear before cupping his jaw. “Fuck me,” he repeats, his tone guttural.

[ ](http://www.snapepotterfests.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Master-of-Death.jpg)

Eyes blazing, Snape moves faster, his breath coming in little pants as he speeds up. Leaning down, he kisses Harry, their tongues entwining to tease and play. Harry’s cock, once again hard, rubs against Snape’s belly every time Snape moves inside him. Sensation is coming from everywhere and it’s overwhelming. His orgasm envelops him, white hot pleasure engulfing him, and Harry is flying, coming, his body trembling.

Snape shouts, his thrusts going ragged until he, too, comes, emptying himself into Harry before collapsing on top of him, panting. 

They are a sticky mess, Harry realises, and at some point they should probably move. But Harry is boneless and sated and too pleased with himself to care. Yawning, he absently caresses Snape’s back, smiling as Snape’s breathing shifts and he rubs against Harry like an overgrown cat. 

“We should get moving,” Snape finally says into Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we probably should.” Harry sighs, sensing the moment is passing. A thought occurs to him. “Do you think our bodies, um, reacted in the real world, too?” 

Snape raises his head. “You contemplate the oddest things,” he says. “I have no idea.” He smirks. “Although if they did, your friends got an eyeful.” 

Harry blushes, imagining Hermione’s reaction, not to mention Ron’s. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now, I guess.” 

“No, I suppose not.” Sitting up, Snape reaches for his clothes after handing Harry his. 

They clean up their little shelter, Harry feeling almost regretful as he transforms the mattress back into leaves and branches and cancels the shield spells. Fortunately, the ominous feeling he had the night before is gone. 

“Any thoughts on which way to go to get me to the great beyond?” Snape asks as they start out. 

Harry blinks. He’s totally forgotten he’s supposed to be leading Snape to heaven or wherever. After all they’ve shared, it feels…like a betrayal. After all, he just found the man and now he has to lose him again? Slowly, Harry shakes his head. “I’m kind of going by feel here,” he says. 

“Typical,” mutters Snape, rolling his eyes, but his lips tip up.

But who says he has to lead Snape to his death? Harry perks up. Maybe he can lead Snape back to life. And with that thought, Harry begins to plot.

It’s bright, well, as bright as it ever appears to get in the Deathscape. There are birds again, and Harry smiles as he listens to them warble. Feeling brave, he reaches for Snape’s hand, cheered when he’s met only with a raised eyebrow and no resistance. 

Within what seems like thirty minutes, they emerge from the trees with the castle behind them. Harry looks at it before turning his back. 

“Still have the urge to pay them a visit?” Snape asks as they move away from the structure.

“Not even a little,” Harry says. “I feel like we dodged a hex by not going there.” 

“As do I.” 

There’s a moment of disorientation and a path appears. It seems clear, and looking at it stretched out before him, Harry wonders how he couldn’t see it before. “Can you see it, too?” he asks Snape. “The path?” 

Snape shakes his head. “I see a vast field, but no path.” He hums. “Perhaps it is an ability of the Master of Death?” 

Harry bites his lip. “Maybe.” He tugs on Snape’s hand. “This way. I feel like we’re about to get this sorted.” 

They start off and Harry is quiet. He doesn’t want to lose Snape to the great beyond, but maybe it’s not his decision. Maybe this, whatever it is, between them isn’t enough to make him want to stay. Then again, maybe it is. But how to ask? Harry can just imagine that conversation. ‘I know you’re ready to move on, but please stay here so we can fuck.’ Snape would be within his rights to hex him. Harry sighs. 

“You’re deep in thought,” Snape says. 

Harry clears his throat. “Just hoping that when the time comes I do the right thing,” he says. 

Snape hums. “I imagine you’ll do fine,” he says. “You always seem to prevail, even against ridiculous odds.” 

Harry hopes he’s right, because he really wants to bring Snape back with him. Opening his mouth, he starts to ask if Snape would be willing to consider returning to the land of the living instead of passing on, when the ground rumbles again. The sudden shake sends them both sprawling, although Snape manages to grab Harry, cushioning his fall with his body. 

Clinging to Snape, Harry catches his breath. “What is it with earthquakes here?” 

“As we’re in each other’s minds, perhaps it occurs when one of us has a realisation?” Snape says, sitting up. 

Harry shakes his head. “Not when I have one,” he says. “I think—”

“Yes?” Snape snaps, clearly impatient. “Out with it.” 

“I think when I realise something the weather changes.” Harry looks up at the sky. “See? It’s almost blue.” He eyes Snape. “The earthquakes must be you.” 

“I—” Snape’s mouth shuts. 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Is that a yes? A no?” 

“I think it’s a moot point since we have larger issues,” says Snape, pointing. “Is it me or is that—?”

Harry gapes at the figure approaching at speed. He’s flying, his face sickly familiar. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Voldemort?” 

“Come on,” Snape says, pulling Harry to his feet. “We have to run.” 

Looking around, Harry spots some trees. “There! That way!” 

They race across the field, ducking into the trees before the flying figure reaches them. Snape puts up a shield just in time to send the hex Voldemort casts bouncing away.

“Well, well,” comes that high cold voice Harry still had nightmares about. “It’s the boy who won’t die, and my best lieutenant. And holding hands, no less. Come out, boys, I promise to make your deaths quick, if not painless.” 

“What in Salazar’s name is the Dark Lord doing here?” Snape whispers at Harry once they can catch their breath. “This is your mind! Get rid of him!”

“It’s your mind, too!” Harry hisses. “It’s a shared mind, remember? And he’s supposed to be dead! You must be the one conjuring him since you didn’t see it happen.” 

“Me?” Snape glares at Harry. “And what do you mean ‘supposed to be’? I thought you said you killed him?” Tilting his head, Snape peers through the trees they’re hiding behind. “He looks very spry for a dead man!” 

“I did kill him. Well, I saw him die, anyway. Maybe that’s not really him?” Harry purses his lips as he tries to work it out. “Or maybe our joined minds are manifesting him somehow, but he’s not really a threat. Maybe he can’t actually hurt us.” 

Snape huffs. “Are you willing to take that chance?”

Harry recalls the maniacal look in Voldemort’s eyes. “Not really, no.” He exhales. “What do we do, then?” 

“Well, we have to get past this somehow or I’ll never get to the great beyond,” Snape says. “Ms Granger said there would be tests, correct?” 

“Yes, she did.” Harry chews his bottom lip in thought. “I guess this must be one of them.” 

“Obviously,” Snape says, tone dry. “But I am at a loss as to how we are to defeat him. He’s a skilled duellist, an unscrupulous fighter. Although, with you at my side, perhaps—” 

Harry blinks. “You…trust me?”

“You think I’d sleep with anyone I don’t trust?” Snape asks dryly.

“I…no, I guess not.” Harry forces away the warm feeling inside him. This isn’t the time. “What I don’t get is how he’s here at all.” Harry cranes his neck again to see Voldemort still hovering above the copse of trees. “If everything here’s a test, what does he represent?”

“Represent?” Snape snorts. “Well, were I to postulate a theorem, I’d say he represents a distraction, an attempt to avoid discussing something else.”

Something sharp in Snape’s tone makes Harry look at him. “You obviously think you know what it is,” he says. 

Snape hesitates before speaking. “What did last night mean to you, Potter?” 

Harry blinks. “I…Last night was brilliant,” he says, feeling his way with care. “I enjoyed it. A lot.”

“But?” Snape is holding himself stiff, his gaze fixed on something over Harry’s left shoulder. 

He’s as terrified as Harry. Somehow, that realisation gives Harry the strength to reach out, clasp his hand. “But nothing,” he whispers. “I’ve been trying to screw up the courage to ask if you’re set on going to the great beyond or if you’d consider an alternate destination.” 

Snape meets Harry’s eyes. “Such as?” 

“Such as coming back with me.” Harry exhales. There, he’s said it. “I know you said you’re ready to move on, but I’d like to think there’s something to live for, too.” He can feel his face flushing but he continues on nonetheless. “And maybe you don’t want an Auror cadet underfoot all the time, but I’d like a chance to get to know the true Severus Snape. He’s a pretty fascinating man.” 

“No one…” Snape clears his throat and starts again. “No one except your mother has even been especially interested in getting to know me. And even when she did, it didn’t exactly work out—” 

“I am not my mother. Nor am I my father. I’m me, and from what I see there’s plenty about you that I want to see more of. And I don’t know if that’s enough to make you want to stay, but—” 

Snape places a finger over Harry’s lips. “All I wanted was to be asked,” he says, leaning close. The kiss is light, but threatens to go deeper when…

“As touching as this is,” says Voldemort, “it will not spare you my wrath.” 

Harry and Snape separate, and as one turn towards where Voldemort is hovering. “Oh, shut up!” they cry in unison. 

The air shimmers and the trees, Voldemort, and the entire Deathscape disappear. They are standing in formless mist. 

“This must be the true shape of this place,” Snape says, looking around. He’s automatically drawn Harry closer to him, and, pleased, Harry presses in. “Fascinating.”

::YOU HAVE NAVIGATED MY REALM::

The voice comes from everywhere. Harry, eyes wide, looks at Snape, who also seems shaken. “That must be Death, I presume,” Snape murmurs.

::YES I AM THE ONE YOU CALL DEATH::

“So what do we do now?” asks Harry, voice shaky. 

::STATE YOUR INTENT::

Harry licks his lips, his thoughts swirling. How to put it so it’s clear he wants Snape to return to life with him? Maybe if he makes his argument persuasive enough, Death will do him a favour?

::WHAT WILL YOU GIVE ME IN RETURN::

“In return? What did you ask for?” Snape asks, searching Harry’s face. “Did you make a wish?” 

Harry’s smile is tentative. “I was trying to think of how to ask for what I want.”

::I READ INTENT::

Harry almost senses amusement from Death. “I’ll give you back your Hallows if you let me keep him,” he says aloud. 

Beside him, Snape freezes. “Stop! You can’t!” he hisses. 

Harry looks at him, clasps his hand and clings. “What am I going to do with them? They’re worthless to me.” 

“And I’m worth something to you?” Snape shakes his head. “These are priceless artefacts. Potter, you can’t—”

“I don’t care!” Grabbing Snape’s face in his hands, Harry leans their foreheads together. “And yes, you’re worth something to me! You’re worth much more to me than a cloak, an old wand, and a stone! I…I think there could be something really good between us, but we need time together, a lifetime maybe, to find out.”

Snape opens his mouth but is interrupted. 

::I ACCEPT::

“What?” Snape pulls back. “Potter—”

“It’s _Harry_ , and it’s done.” Harry kisses Snape, feels it the moment Snape, no _Severus_ relaxes and accepts his decision. Drawing back to look Severus directly in the face, he smiles. “Plus, I think Death may let me keep them a bit longer.” 

::WE SHALL MEET AGAIN HARRY POTTER IN THE DISTANT FUTURE WHEN YOU ARE DESTINED TO COME TO ME AND AT THAT TIME I SHALL RECLAIM MY HALLOWS::

Harry bows his head in acknowledgement and as he does so the mist rises, thickens, and Harry finds himself alone. “No!” he cries. “Severus?! Severus! Where are you?”

* * *

“Severus!” Harry sat up, blinking. He was on the floor beside Severus’ slab, the blanket in disarray around him. He struggled to his feet just in time to see the shield go down and Hermione and Ron stagger. “ _Protego!_ ” he shouted, and another shield shimmered into place. 

“Thank Merlin,” said Ron, sagging. “You came back just in time, mate.” 

“Did you do it?” Hermione asked, walking over to Harry. “Did you send him to the great beyond?” 

“Fuck, I hope not,” Harry said. Spinning, he looked at Severus, and just as he did, Severus blinked. “Oh, thank Merlin,” Harry breathed. 

Severus coughed, began struggling to sit up. Harry was there immediately, helping him. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. In the corner of his eye he saw Hermione grab Ron and mutter something that made him nod and smile. “Welcome back.” 

“Thank you.” Severus’ colour was improving from moment to moment. “Should you…be standing…so close? Your friends will think—”

“Hermione and Ron know how I feel about you,” Harry interrupted.

“What about the Unspeakables,” Severus whispered, his voice hoarse. “They appear…perturbed.” 

“Oh, hell,” Harry said, turning around in time to see his shield coming down under the onslaught of at least five Unspeakables’ wands. 

“Unspeakable Trainee Granger.” The tall, thin man Hermione had left standing in the hallway was scowling. He stepped forward. “You attempted to Obliviate me!” 

Attempted to? Harry exchanged a look with Ron as Hermione moved forward. “I’m sorry, Unspeakable Brown,” she said, voice firm. “But we had to get in to save Professor Snape. If that means you have to throw me out, then—”

“Throw you out?” Brown holds up his hand. “This was one of the most unique ways I’ve seen a trainee solve a mystery in a while. No, trainee Granger. You’re going nowhere. You have, in fact, successfully passed your last test. Consider yourself a full Unspeakable.” 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “This was all a test?” Her voice was a bit strained. 

“Indeed.” Brown smiled. “Unspeakables not only have to have intellectual curiosity, but a sense of justice as well. Unspeakable White made sure you overheard us discussing the possible dissection of your former professor’s aura, and we waited for your response.” His gaze flicked to Harry, who was still hovering protectively over Severus. “Your choice to involve a Master of Death was…inspired.” 

“I should like to go,” said Severus. “All this talk of dissection, whether or not it’s intended, is…unsettling.” 

“Of course.” Brown inclined his head. “We recommend you continue the potions Unspeakable Green developed for your wound for another three months, Professor, however, in order to avoid any recurrence of your symptoms.” 

Another grey-robed man approached and tried to hand something directly to Severus, but Harry intercepted him. “I’ll take that,” he said firmly. It was probably for the best if he kept himself between Severus and the men who had been discussing dissecting him, even if it had been some sort of sick test. 

Green raised an eyebrow but then shrugged, handing it to him. 

“So that’s it, right? We can leave now?” asked Ron as everyone stood around. “Because I’m bloody well knackered. I could use a good night’s sleep.” 

“As could I,” murmured Severus.

Harry tightened his grip on his shoulders. “With company, I hope?” 

Severus hummed. “Company would be welcome.”

* * *

“And you’re sure you still don’t remember anything?”

Harry smiled. “I remember bits and pieces,” he said. “The conversation with Death was a big deal.” As was his first time with Severus, but Harry wasn’t about to tell her that bit. “The rest…well, it’s all sort of fading.” 

“I still can’t believe you made that deal with Death.” Hermione shook her head. “They’re the Deathly Hallows! You can’t just…give them away like that.” 

Harry shrugged. “They were his in the first place, Hermione. Plus, do you really want them out in the world for the next Dark wizard to fixate on? Giving them back to Death seemed the safest thing.” 

“I suppose.” Hermione pursed her lips. “Now that I’m a full Unspeakable, I’m meant to start my own line of research. Do you think I could borrow them, focus my research on them? That way, if they must be lost to us, at least we’ll be able to preserve their legacy, and maybe discover something new in the process.” 

Harry grinned. “I think that’s a brilliant idea. And yes, you can study them to your heart’s content. I didn’t get the impression that Death planned to turn up looking for them for a long time.”

“Thank you.” Hermione hesitated and Harry could tell she was gearing up for a serious conversation. “So. Things seem to have worked out with Snape while you were in the Deathscape.”

“Yeah, they kinda did.” Harry smiled.

“I hate to ask this, but what if it’s different now that you’re back in the real world?” Hermione chewed her bottom lip. 

Harry sighed. “Honestly, what happened between us in the Deathscape felt pretty real. I think if we can manage in a realm where Death can create things out of mist and where Voldemort attacked us, then we’ll be fine here, if that makes sense?”

“Voldemort?” She raised an eyebrow. “You never mentioned that before. I thought you couldn't remember much?”

Harry blushed. “I remember enough.” 

Tilting her head, Hermione studied him for a moment. Then, she smiled. “Well, you’re clearly happy, so I guess everything worked out for the best.” She leaned forward. “Oh, and I made some inquiries about what you asked me to. There is no way they can reverse Snape’s acquittal or rescind his Order of Merlin, they’re ironclad.”

Harry exhaled. “Thank Merlin. I was worried someone would try to bring Severus up on charges now that he isn’t quite as dead as everyone had thought. That’s great news.” He grinned. “Also, Ron seems to be taking this surprisingly well. I thought he’d have more of a problem now that my feelings aren’t quite so abstract.” 

Hermione glanced over to where Severus and Ron were engrossed in a vicious wizard chess match. “I think he’s just thrilled to have a worthy opponent.” She smiled gently. “And I think he likes seeing you happy. That’s all any of us want.” Standing, she pulled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s join them.” 

They walked over and, without looking up from the board, Severus shifted over to make space beside him for Harry. Harry sat, pressing up beside him. “Are you winning?” he asked. 

Ron scoffed.

Severus glanced up from the chess board, a slight smile on his face. “With you at my side? Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3617212.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1568586.html), or [Dreamwidth](http://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/871658.html).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [art for Master of Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968724) by [Alisanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne), [MyWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyWitch/pseuds/MyWitch)




End file.
